


a millennial's guide to making a home (oh my god they were roommates)

by dandelioness



Series: Find You Every Time [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Asexual Character, Friends to Lovers, Genderqueer Character, Other, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23638159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelioness/pseuds/dandelioness
Summary: Shawn and Leland don't have many friends, so when their roommate moves in with his girlfriend, they're at a loss for how to make rent. It's surprisingly difficult to find a decent human who wants to live with two members of a shitty indie band that practices at odd hours in their apartment above the local queer coffee shop. One Craigslist ad later, enter Abdel, a Deaf librarian with skeptical eyebrows, expensive taste in coffee, and no gender to speak of.This is a story about being a millennial under late capitalism, navigating adulthood, late-bloomer sexuality crises, and the power of friendship. It's also about knitting badly as a coping mechanism, the superiority of dark over light roast coffee, complicated sibling relationships, and like, falling in love with your roommate.
Relationships: Abdel Awad/Shawn Strange (McLaughlin)
Series: Find You Every Time [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/763791
Kudos: 3





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> what up we're starting off with a drunken sexuality crisis so there's that.

“Ya know wha's funny?” Shawn slurred from Abdel's doorway. Abdel looked up from their book (yet another reread of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ ; they were involved in a rather in-depth discussion of the concept of time travel in Rowling's world with a friend online and...). “Ya _know_ wha'ss _funny,_ ” Shawn repeated, louder this time and clearly doing his very best to enunciate with his alcohol-numbed tongue.

“I'm wearing my hearing aids, Shawn, you don't have to shout quite so much,” Abdel remarked. They'd come upstairs to the hotel suite shortly after Shawn had downed his first whiskey and had kept their hearing aids in on purpose. Because, you see, beer made Shawn happy. He ended up in other people's rooms and showed up the next morning looking mildly pleased and smelling like some strange woman's shampoo. Whiskey Shawn tended to end up going on sad philosophical rants in Abdel's direction for an hour or two before falling asleep on the couch or the floor or the bed of the Junk Bucket.

Shawn nodded and stumbled further into Abdel's room, apparently taking the hearing aids for what they were: an invitation for Shawn to vomit words all over his roommate. He stood swaying by the nightstand for a moment, looking squint-eyed at Abdel's patient, waiting gaze. Then, nodding again, he took another step forward and collapsed over the foot of Abdel's bed. For a long moment, Shawn just lay there with his face buried in the blankets, but he eventually picked his head up to look Abdel in the face. He was funny that way, Shawn. Always wanted to make sure Abdel could hear him. He could remember drunk what most people couldn't seem to grasp sober.

“Wha's funny. Funny is that. I don't have to have sex.”

Abdel blinked, stared at Shawn (his brow was wrinkled in the kind of adorably intense focus that belonged to the drunk), blinked again. Well. That was unexpected. They carefully dogeared their page and set the book on the nightstand. They had a feeling this conversation was going to require their full attention. “No,” they said, when it became clear that Shawn was not going to further clarify. “No, you don't.” A pause. “Did someone make you feel that you had to?” If they had, Abdel would kill that person themself.

Shawn frowned. “No. Not...not someone.” He frowned harder, apparently looking for words. “Erryone.” He put his face in the blankets again, not speaking, just breathing heavily for a moment. When he looked up again, Abdel was shaken to see smudges of tear tracks forming on his cheeks. “Ya know, I jus'...I thought...there was this girl tonight, and we were gettin' on fine and gonn go back t'her room an' then...then I thought.

“I don't _have_ to have sex. It's — it's not _re-qui-red_ ," enunciated slowly, deliberately. "Don' hafta do it jus' 'cause I want someone to — to _like_ me. Don' hafta do it to make someone _care_. So I dinn't.”

It sounded like it hurt Shawn to say it, like he was scraping the words out of his throat against his own will and better judgment. The little frown between his eyebrows was trying to be mulish, but his teary eyes betrayed the expression. Mostly he looked scared, and a little lost. Carefully, Abdel reached out and put a hand gently on top of Shawn's. He was far enough down the bed that it was really more a brush of their fingers, but it was the contact itself that was important. Abdel swallowed around the lump growing in their throat and said quietly. "No. That's not — care and affection are not bought and paid for. It isn't transactional."

Shawn nodded against the mattress and adjusted his hand so his fingers interlaced with Abdel's a bit. "Yeah, that. Like, like, you care an' you'd never ask me to do that stuff. An' I don't hafta and you love me anyways. An' Leland, an' Ray, and _you_. You love me anyway, jus' 'cause I'm me."

And, _oh_ , didn't that hurt to hear. "Of course we do," Abdel told him fiercely. "Of _course_. As if we could help it." They leaned forward to get a solid grip on Shawn's wrist before giving a gentle tug. Shawn had learned some of Abdel's language in the year they'd been living together, and Abdel had learned some of Shawn's in return. Their roommate desperately needed to be touched, to be held — to be _cared for_. Shawn smiled weakly at the tug and pulled himself up the bed, wriggling himself into place until he was snug against Abdel's side. One arm curled around Abdel's torso, hand clutched in their sweater. Abdel slid one arm under Shawn, resting their palm between his shoulder blades, and the other hand on Shawn's bicep. Shawn hid his face in Abdel's shoulder, his tear-damp breath huffing against the bare skin of their neck. This close, Abdel didn't need to be able to see Shawn's face to hear him, and Shawn could hide as much as he needed.

To think about Shawn, brilliant beautiful Shawn, Shawn who so casually called himself a _slut_ and then laughed about it — to think that perhaps, he'd never wanted to be that. That he had only, desperately, wanted someone to care. Abdel tightened their hold on him.

“I don' hafta ever have sex again if I don' wanna,” Shawn said, voice muffled in Abdel's sweater.

“No,” Abdel confirmed, and reached up to gently card their fingers through Shawn's hair, still a little gross with dried sweat from the night's show. "And you will _always_ have people who will love you anyway."

“Livin' with you probly ruined my life,” Shawn sighed, but it was a tentatively happy, wondering thing. Abdel just hummed in agreement and continued playing with Shawn's hair. Within minutes, Shawn was asleep.


	2. eleven months prior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take a step back — several steps back — all the way to the beginning. Mostly, this is about Shawn being a dumbass, but like, endearingly so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> potential content warnings: allusions to neglectful parenting, a cis character being really super obtuse toward trans folks re: pronouns

_eleven months earlier_

“This,” said the stranger at Shawn’s door, shoving a piece of paper in Shawn’s face, “Is quite possibly the single worst craigslist advertisement I have ever seen.”

There was a solid minute or twelve where Shawn just stood mute and stared at the stranger. Eventually he managed to say, “But you’re here, so clearly it worked. Come on in.”

The newcomer looked at Shawn with narrowed eyes for a minute, then nodded decisively and swept right past him into the stairwell. Not too timid then, Shawn mused with a mental shrug. That was good. Any prospective roommate would need some kinda strong attitude in order to handle Shawn and Leland, not to mention Taylor. Well, mostly Lee and Tay. Mostly Tay.

He maybe should’ve mentioned Tay in the ad.

(The ad in its final form read:

_Wanted: roommate for third room in 3-bdrm apartment. Your room would be the big one in back, feat. a cool window that opens out onto the lower roof. Summer roofsitting is an A++ activity. Apartment is entire second story of building. Large kitchen, 1 ½ bath, big open common space. Lower floor is Silent Tea Cafe._

_Current Roommates are two late-20s straight (ish?) white dudes working like twelve part-time jobs between the two of us. Also we play in a shitty indie band. Other regulars include our bassist and other guitarist/vocalist._

_LGBT-whatever friendly. Alcohol, sure. Cigarettes, well, shit happens. Drugs, nah. Not accessible (2-story building w/o elevator. Many stair.)_

_Applicants should probably be deaf if you ever want to get any sleep because the shitty indie band practices at odd hours. Rent is 600/mo plus your share of utilities. Heat included in rent!!! Shoot me an email if you’re interested, or just show up at this address and ring the bell for #2 anytime this Saturday._

All in all, Shawn was rather proud of himself.)

“So, yeah. We’re up on the second floor,” he said to the newbie’s back. To no avail, apparently, as the person before him didn’t even budge. “Yo,” he tried again, reading a hand out to brush a flannel-clad shoulder. Potential Roomie turned around, eyes wide in question. Big brown eyes. Nice eyes. Behind big ugly glasses, sure, but still. Nice eyes. Shawn shook himself out of it. “Uh, we’re upstairs. Follow me.” He started to take the lead, then stopped abruptly about three stairs up and turned back around. “You got a name?”

“Abdel,” Potential Roomie replied. Something like a smile was tugging at the corners of those big brown eyes. “Abdel Awad.”

“Shawn McLaughlin,” Shawn returned, and reached out for a handshake. And then, as their hands met and before Shawn’s brain could catch up with his mouth, “You got a gender?”

(Shawn wished he could say this was the first time something that stupid had come out of his mouth, but that was so far from the truth, it might as well be on the moon. In fact, he’d had almost this exact exchange a couple months ago with the owner of the cafe downstairs. There was a sign at the cash wrap of Silent Tea that read: _Today your barista is ________ . _My pronouns are _______._ After seeing Alex use three different sets of pronouns in the space of a week, Shawn had asked, _Do you even have a gender?_ Alex had made intensely uncomfortable eye contact and answered, _Too many._ Apparently, Shawn hadn’t learned his lesson.)

To Shawn’s eternal relief, Abdel just smiled, wide and weirdly pleased. “Not as such. I use they/them pronouns. Your ad said the apartment was trans-friendly?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” Shawn said hurriedly. Then he realized he was still holding Abdel’s hand. What the fuck. Why was he like this. Jesus Christ. Letting go, Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets before they could pull another stupid stunt like that, and cleared his throat. “Right. Cool. Up we go, then.”

The apartment tour itself was something Shawn could do in his sleep, which thankfully meant that there were no further verbal disasters. He’d have to thank Leland later for letting him rehearse the tour a gazillion times before even posting the ad. Lee hadn’t been happy about it, but he was, at this point in their lives, so resigned to giving in to Shawn’s whims that he’d hardly protested at all.

When Ray had announced that he and Yvette were going to find a place together, Shawn had been violently thrown off his groove. Shawn had been living with Lee and Ray for _years_. They had a _system_. They had _patterns_ that _worked_. Shawn was, frankly, _terrified_ of trying to create anything even half so comfortable with a new person. He wanted to vet any potential roommates carefully, make sure that they knew what they were getting into and that they could maybe someday fit in. The three guys who’d come by so far hadn’t even come close to making the cut, and Leland was starting to get aggravated. Something about how _this isn’t a fucking audition, Strange, we need someone to pay the rent._

Abdel was taking everything in stride, nodding in all the right places and occasionally forcing Shawn into further explanation by wielding their eyebrows at him with impressive amounts of skepticism. How the fuck were they doing that? They asked a lot of questions, too, stuff like: _please tell me that’s not a Taylor Swift poster in the living room_ (it sure fuckin was, and Shawn would not have someone shittalking _Lover_ in his house and told Abdel as much); _Who was the craft master to create a candelabra from the empty beer bottles_ (Ray, whose arts and craft skills were already sorely missed); and _What in the name of all that is good in this world is_ that (it was framed cover art for the band’s first album. Taylor had designed it, and it was, to be fair, a visual headache. With respect to Tay, she’d been thirteen and going through some shit at the time).

Eventually, they wound up in the kitchen, and Shawn made them a pot of coffee. Abdel had raised their eyebrows to express...approval, probably? when Shawn had busted out a French press instead of heading for the drip. Shawn leaned up against the kitchen counter, hands shoved back in his pockets where they couldn’t do any significant damage, and waited for the kettle to boil. Abdel sat themself at the kitchen table and just watched Shawn for a bit, contemplative. It went on long enough that Shawn started to get twitchy and he had to break eye contact.

“So, uh, any more questions?”

And the eyebrows were back to skeptical. “Possibly more than I started with,” Abdel said dryly. After a moment of consideration, they began with, “How did two straight — straight-ish? — men end up living above Silent Tea?”

Shawn had to give a little laugh at that. Silent Tea was a blatantly queer coffee and tea shop, run by Alex of Too Many Genders and a rotating cast of young Twin Cities queers with more tattoos and piercings than you could shake a stick at. Pride flags of all kinds hung in the front windows, and a lot of local LGBT+ resource groups held events there. So the question was definitely more than fair.

“Yeah, that’s fair. We’ve actually been here, what, six years now? Back when it used to be a deli down below. It was awful because you could smell the cooking starting at like four in the morning. I was hungry all the damn time. Then like, two years back they moved to a bigger building up on University and a buncha queer kids got the lease downstairs.”

Abdel nodded. “And the name of your shitty indie band?”

“SIFR,” Shawn answered with the ease of long practice. “Pronounced like _cipher_ and spelled S-I-F-R. I play guitar and sing,” he added proudly.

“And —” Whatever Abdel was going to say was cut off by the whistling of the kettle. It was sudden and piercing, and they both flinched away from it. Abdel put a hand to their ear, wincing like the shrill sound had gone straight to their brain, while Shawn hurried to turn off the stove and get the coffee together.

And of course, before Abdel could even start talking again, Lee got home, and Taylor with him. Shawn could tell because their yelling was echoing in the stairwell, faint but still understandable.

“I don’t give a _shit_ about legality, Lee,” Taylor was saying. “Mom wouldn’t know good parenting if it ran her down in a monster truck!”

Shawn closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Not this again. Please, no more Leland family drama.

“I didn’t think it’d be such a sensitive question,” Abdel said, their voice drawing Shawn out of himself.

“Sorry, what?” He opened his eyes again and took a deep breath. Lee and Tay were closer now, and Lee’s voice echoed.

“I don’t want to be arrested for fucking kidnapping, Taylor!”

“I asked,” Abdel said slowly, eyebrows creeping up their forehead. “If I could meet the other roommate before I left. You’re acting as though that might be a problem.”

Shawn blinked at them. The _fuck_? The door slammed open with a crash that had them both flinching again, and Shawn asked in disbelief, “I wasn’t — couldn’t you _hear_ them?”

Abdel tilted their head and, pulling aside their curtain of curly hair, revealed a small bud in their ear. “As requested,” they said, tone ironic. They let their hair fall back into place and smiled crookedly. “I had to adjust it after the kettle went — too much feedback.”

Right. Well, made more sense than it didn’t. Sighing, Shawn told them, “Leland just got home. He’s being loud and obnoxious about it.”

As if summoned by Shawn’s exasperation, Lee appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. Standing at only five-five, Lee’s broad shoulders and truly impressive glower still made him more intimidating than he frankly had any right to be. Shawn decided to deal with Lee’s presence by turning his attention to the French press and pouring himself and Abdel each a mug of coffee.

“Strange,” Lee growled, heedless of Shawn’s avoidance tactic. “Please explain to my sister that we cannot bring a minor on tour without parental consent.”

“Strange,” Taylor echoed mockingly, her tiny blonde head peeking out from behind Lee’s shoulder. “Please explain to my brother that you can’t go on tour at all without a goddamn bassist.” And then, to Shawn’s surprise, “Hey Abdel.”

“ _Strange_ ,” Lee insisted, more aggressive this time. “Please — who the _fuck_ are you?”

Ah. So he’d finally noticed Abdel then.

Shawn reached across to hand Abdel their coffee and quickly calculated the best method of damage control. “Leland!” He began, with admittedly exaggerated cheer. “My dear friend! My kind, gentle, and entirely reasonable companion!” Hmm, it was possible Shawn was overdoing it. To be fair, it was really kind of difficult to give someone a decent first impression of Lee. “May I introduce to you the most promising applicant for that barren third room? Yes? Wonderful.

“This is Abdel Awad. They don’t have a gender, but they do have an excellent set of skeptical eyebrows!”

Abdel gave a strangled sort of sound at that, which Shawn elected to ignore for now. Honestly, Shawn was too afraid to look at them in order to find out whether it was a sound of amusement or disapproval.

“My. Pleasure,” Lee gritted out. He was gonna damage his teeth if he kept clenching his jaw like that.

“I’m sorry,” Abdel said genially. “You’ll have to move your mouth a bit more for me to understand you. I’m Deaf, you see.”

Lee rounded on Shawn, eyes wild and expression downright murderous. “ _You_ ,” he snarled, “And that _goddamn_ ad.”

“They’re perfect!” Shawn insisted, gesturing with a little too much energy and spilling some of his coffee on the floor.

“I am perfect,” Abdel agreed. They were much more calm about this whole interaction than Shawn was, sipping their coffee with an expression of faint amusement.

“Ugh, I’m out of here,” Taylor interrupted, then turned and stomped back off toward the front door. She did manage to throw out a parting shot of, “We are _not_ done talking about the tour!”

Lee made some sort of subvocal growling sound. Shawn was getting a headache.

“Look, Lee,” he tried, settling into something more serious. “You’re the one who pointed out that this isn’t an audition. Abdel needs a place to live; we have a place to live. They can pay the rent; we must pay the rent. It’s ideal.”

Lee turned back to Abdel and folded his arms across his chest. With a judgmental glare, he demanded, “Do you have a job?”

“Yes, I work as a research librarian at the U,” Abdel answered, totally pleasant. No one was ever pleasant to Lee when he was like this. Color Shawn impressed. “Yourself?”

“I play drums and...tend bar,” Lee said. Even his usual monotone varied enough to convey that bartending was some sort of euphemism, and likely for something dangerous and unsavory.

“I must admit, I’m suddenly more grateful that I’m Deaf.”

Lee narrowed his eyes. _Come on, man_ , Shawn thought at him desperately. _Please_.

Finally, he nodded. “You can stay. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have to go handle our bitch of a bassist.”

“She’s coming on tour, whether your mom likes it or not,” Shawn told him. “Tay’s right, we need her. Besides, she’ll be eighteen before the tour’s half through. Figure it out.”

Lee just made another one of those awful growling noises and stomped out of the room in much the same style his little sister had. When the front door had once more slammed shut behind him, Shawn turned his full attention back to Abdel.

“So, um. Yeah, that’s Leland. He has the room up front that I showed you, so it’s as far from your room as it could possibly get.” As if that could possibly be a mitigating factor when it came to living with Lee. “And, uh, that was Taylor Leland, his little sister. She’s our bassist for SIFR. As you may have gathered. Or — she knew your name, you know each other?”

“Yes, I know Taylor already. I’m a regular at Silent Tea,” they added, at Shawn’s obvious confusion. “I’ve heard her mention her brother before, although I can’t say I was expecting...that.”

“Lee’s...hard to anticipate,” Shawn tried. God. Understatement.

“He seems terrible,” Abdel said mildly, looking at Shawn over their mug with a completely unreadable expression. _Come on, eyebrows, where are you when I need you_ , Shawn thought wildly.

“I mean, he is,” Shawn agreed. It was true, Leland was terrible. He was also Shawn’s best friend in the whole world. “I’d say he’s got a good heart or something, but it’s...he’s not soft, or kind. He’s mean and defensive, and has a, hmmm, tumultuous relationship with his little sister. But he’s fiercely loyal, like, rabidly so. And he’s my best friend. I know he’s not everyone’s cup of tea — shit, he’s not really anyone’s cup of tea — but I love him. So.” Shawn, as had been previously demonstrated, was not great with words. Eventually, he just gave Abdel a shrug and a hopeful smile.

Abdel fell back into silence again for a while, sipping their coffee and doing the staring thing. “Leland is his last name?” Shawn nodded. “Does he have a first name?”

Shawn’s answer was immediate and completely genuine. “Legally, I’m not allowed to answer that question.” There! Those were the skeptical eyebrows Shawn had been missing these past several minutes! Granted, this statement usually provoked some variation of skepticism from the listener, but hey. Shawn went with his usual follow-up tactic and just moved on before Abdel could ask further questions. “So, the room’s yours. If you still want it?”

Abdel shook their head and huffed a sound that was almost a laugh. Damn. And Shawn had such high hopes earlier. But before Shawn could sink too deeply into his own disappointment —

“When can I move in?”


	3. the beginning (Shawn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the move-in process! a classic.

Abdel moved in over the course of the next week, assisted by a rotating team of dubiously-gendered folks in their twenties. Shawn would often come home from one or other of his jobs to find that a new side table had appeared in the living room, or to a mini whiteboard that hadn’t been there before hanging next to the refrigerator. The vast majority of Abdel’s shit seemed to end up in that back bedroom, but they were unafraid to leave signs of their presence in the rest of the house. On the third day of the move-in process, Abdel texted the household discord to ask how Shawn and Lee might feel about them shoving the sofa around to make room for a couple of bookshelves.

**_HOUSE :) :) :)  
practical-shit-channel_ **

_**strange:** yeah dude go for it _

_**assface mcgee:** Don’t care _

_**strange:** wait bookSHELVES  
_ _plural???_

_**ineffable eyebrows:** yes? there’s two of them_   
_both about three ft wide, 6 ft tall  
it’s just for the overflow of whatever doesn’t fit in my room_

_**strange:** dude how many books do u have _

_**ineffable eyebrows:** several _

_Several_ , it turned out, was an incredible understatement. When Shawn got home that evening, the front room had, indeed, been rearranged. Shawn and Lee’s sofa, a shoddily re-upholstered Chesterfield that was a result of Mom’s brief flirtation with furniture restoration, had been shifted to a corner next to the window. Where it had been previously, two large IKEA-looking bookcases of sturdy pine sat snugged against one another. There were half a dozen or so boxes labeled BOOKS on the floor next to them, and a sticky note on one shelf letting Shawn and Lee know they were welcome to fill whatever space was leftover. It was sweet, it looked nice in the space, and Shawn probably wouldn’t have thought much of those six boxes of books if he hadn’t seen Abdel and Co. carry in _twenty-eight other boxes_ over the next several days. Shawn counted. It was a little terrifying.

The houseplants were also more than a little terrifying. Abdel moved those in on day six. There were a _lot_ of houseplants, and they were unreasonably large, unreasonably viney, and unreasonably homicidal-looking. Yes, really. For example, there was a hanging plant with fuzzy, purple-green leaves that Abdel cheerfully referred to as the _venomous tentacula_ and which gave the impression it would strangle you in your sleep, just for the fun of it. That one went in the main room, hung from the ceiling near the window. There were also a potted ivy and a couple of spider plants on the bookcases Abdel had installed earlier in the week; a fat little cactus on the kitchen windowsill; another spider plant hanging above the coffee maker; something called a Boston fern in the bathroom next to the shower; and a veritable Eden in Abdel’s room. The next morning over coffee, Abdel talked cheerfully of trying to grow some wildflowers on the roof once the weather cleared up.

On day two of the move-in process (mattress, shelving, a couple suitcases, and the first of _many_ boxes of books), Shawn discovered that Abdel was not a morning person. Well, okay, maybe that wasn’t quite fair. Rather, Shawn discovered that Abdel, while an early riser, did not appreciate the company of other humans until at _least_ their second cup of coffee, and rarely bothered with their hearing aids before cup three. Shawn suspected that this was an effort to preserve plausible deniability when Abdel elected to ignore anyone who tried to talk to them.

On day four (three more boxes of books, a disassembled bed frame, a large box labeled KITCHEN and another labeled COFFEE), Shawn wandered into the kitchen to scrounge up coffee and food before heading to work, and found Taylor there, helping Abdel reorganize the pre-existing kitchenware to accommodate their own. For the most part, the two ignored Shawn’s entrance as Taylor chattered happily about having the option of crashing on Maryam’s couch again now that Abdel had a real place to live. Maryam, apparently, was the friend with whom Abdel had been living since their last living situation fell out (Shawn still wasn’t clear on the details of that), as well as the best friend of Alex Of Too Many Genders And Also Tay’s Boss. When Shawn tried to remark on the improbability of these connections, Abdel turned and fixed him with the most exhausted expression Shawn had ever seen and said, “The queer community is just. So small. It’s so small, Shawn.”

On day five (yet _more_ books, a writing desk, and the deceptively friendly fat little cactus, paving the way for its more terrifying relatives), Shawn found out that the best way to alert Abdel to his presence in the mornings was to stomp through the apartment. Apparently the vibrations in the floor were more easily recognizable to them than the sound of footsteps.

Lee either did _not_ discover this fun fact or chose to ignore Abdel’s preference for people _stomping about like elephants_ , as Shawn discovered on day eight (a grocery run to the co-op on Dale that was disproportionately for coffee). After Lee had startled Abdel one too many times before Abdel’d had adequate coffee, Abdel responded by pulling all of Leland’s favorite foods from the cabinets and hiding them on the uppermost shelves. The shelves that neither Lee nor Taylor could reach, even with a chair. Shawn just counted them all lucky that Lee didn’t immediately spontaneously combust from fury.

On the bright side, Shawn thought, this meant that he had nothing to fear with regard to Lee trying to steamroll Abdel.

Twelve days into the new cohabitation (three loads of laundry and vague threats of getting a cat), Shawn found out that Abdel had decent taste in music. Ray and Taylor were over, completing the band, and they were working out a set list for the gig they had the night after tomorrow. Abdel came stomping into the den-slash-practice-room at quarter to two in the morning, waving their hearing aid around like it was a flag of truce. When the band stopped playing, Abdel crossed their arms, raised their eyebrows, and declared, “Even without this, I can confidently state that you are horrible and that I hate you all.” Without waiting for a response, they turned gracefully on their heel and stalked back to their bedroom.

“I think they’re a fan,” Shawn said dreamily, and Ray threw a guitar pick at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short chapter because I split this one into two! belated chapters because I definitely forgot time was real there for a couple of weeks!  
> also for the record Abdel's book hoarding is loosely based on my own. the last time I moved there were 23 boxes of books. the venemous tentacula mentioned is actually a purple velvet plant.


	4. the beginning (Abdel)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> queers gossip in coffee shops, the chapter.

“So,” Alex began, leaning conspiratorially over the counter. “You live with our local token straight men now.”

Abdel couldn’t help but roll their eyes at Alex’s poor excuse for a greeting. That was the problem, they reflected, with being friends with your baristas. They felt entitled to your personal life _before_ handing over the caffeine. “So they’re _your_ straight men now, are they?” they asked with a raise of their brow.

Alex snorted. “But of course. I mean, to be fair, they mostly belong to Taylor, but I feel very proprietary of all my barista children. Thus her straight men are also my straight men.”

Abdel laughed at that. “Fair enough. Yes, Harry and Maryam helped me move in the final pieces last week.”

“Last _week_ ?” Alex said, pressing a hand to — Abdel glanced at the barista intro board — her chest in mock offense. “And you’ve only decided to visit my humble establishment _now_?”

“Give them a break, Lexie,” came a voice drifting over from the couches by the back wall. Maryam, Abdel knew, though they couldn’t see her from where they stood. They’d been living on Maryam’s couch for nearly two months before moving into the House with Shawn and Lee, and could recognize her voice anywhere. “They certainly saw enough of you when living with me. Poor thing probably needed a break from your terrible face.”

“You _wound_ me, love,” Alex returned, shaking her head. Turning back to Abdel, she continued, “I will forgive you this horrible oversight in return for gossip about our boys.”

Abdel pretended to consider for a moment. “I accept your terms, on the condition that you also make me coffee.”

“But of course! Hazelnut latte? How many shots?”

“Four shots, oat milk please.”

“Perfect. You go sit with Maryam, I’ll be over shortly, and you can dish.” Alex gave Abdel a broad grin and shooed them away from the counter.

Abdel found Maryam on the squashy, somewhat-sagging couch beneath the windows. It was Alex and Maryam’s favorite, a vivid color that Alex called blood orange. Last year, Maryam had embroidered a tag and sewn it to the arm of the couch that read, in elegant, curling font, _Bitch, it’s red_. Abdel felt that this couch and its accompanying tag were fairly emblematic of the space that Alex had created: vibrant, good-humored, and obscenely comfortable. Silent Tea was an aggressively welcoming, cheerful sanctuary from the world, a defiant patch of in-your-face queerness in the otherwise quiet Midway neighborhood. It was far from the only coffee shop in Midway, and didn’t have the same bougie hipster vibe as Groundswell or quite the varied clientele of Gingko, but given that the vast majority of the Twin Cities queer scene was on the Minneapolis side of the river, Alex had definitely filled a niche. And that niche was queer caffeine addicts and tired librarians.

Although really, the tired librarian population was just Maryam and Abdel. They both worked the research desk at the U, and had bonded quickly when Abdel started there a few years ago. When Abdel and Auggie had split, Maryam was the first to offer Abdel a place to stay and also the first to offer that it might not be haram to murder a cheater, “since it’s basically adultery, and there are rules about that.” Currently, Maryam was involved in some sort of complex knitting project — it seemed to include at least two different patterns of cable — and didn’t so much as glance up when Abdel dropped onto the couch beside her. Fiber crafts were Maryam’s main hobby, and in her free time she ran an informal group called the Ladies’ Knitting Circle and Revolutionary Society on these couches. Abdel attended when they could, although their knitting was mediocre at best and horrible at worst, and also they weren't actually a lady. Abdel's most recent masterpiece, a sweater they’d completed this past fall, had been described by their friends as “an abomination,” “difficult to perceive with a human eye,” and “seriously Abdel what the fuck did you do.” All in all, they were rather proud.

Abdel and Maryam sat in companionable silence until Alex appeared on the armchair opposite the couch (equally squashy, but in lurid floral!) and handed Abdel their latte. Abdel waited while Alex contorted herself in her chair until she was comfortable in a way that looked incredibly _un_ comfortable, and prepared for interrogation. Sure enough…

“Ben’s got bar for the next fifteen minutes, so spill, darling. What are these boys like?”

Abdel realized they actually had to think about this for a minute, sitting back and sipping on their latte to stall. How _did_ one describe Shawn and Lee? Leland, who was, actually, terrible. His odd hours, his ill-fitting suits, the perpetual bruised-looking shadows under his eyes — and Abdel’s near certainty that Lee did not, in fact, bartend. At all. His seemingly perpetual rage, the clipped monotone of his voice, his shitty drip and instant coffee that neither Shawn nor Abdel would touch, his fierce protectiveness of his little sister. Or Shawn, with his absurdly easy-going personality, constant humming, singing in the shower at five in the morning. His stupid leather jacket, his freckles, his patience and openness to everyone around him, his weekly video calls to his parents that always ended with him smiling the rest of the afternoon and drawing out his vowels.

Abel realized they’d been silent too long when they noticed that Maryam had even put down her knitting in expectation. In the end, Abdel gave a mental shrug and took the _Wicked_ route:

“Shawn is...sweet, if a little bumbling. Prefers light roast over dark roast, which I foresee being an ongoing source of conflict. Surprisingly good with trans stuff and Deaf stuff, although, again, bumbling.”

“Did he ask if you had a gender?” Alex asked, sounding both tired and intrigued.

“How did you —” Something clicked for Abdel, and they grinned. “That’s why he refers to you solely as _Alex of Too Many Genders_.”

“Does he now?” Alex, thankfully, looked oddly pleased with this bit of information. “And what about the other one, Taylor’s brother?”

“Lee’s an asshole.”

This statement was met with silence and a quirked eyebrow from Maryam and a strangled snort from Alex. Abdel just shrugged and refused to elaborate, holding back a grin. After several long, _long_ seconds of staring, Alex sighed and relented.

“I suppose I should’ve expected that,” she said, rueful. “From what I understand, he half-raised Taylor, and there must be something wrong with him for her to have turned out like _that_.”

“I turned out just fine, Lexie,” Taylor said from immediately behind Alex. Neither Abdel nor Maryam bothered to muffle their laughter when Alex flinched so hard in surprise that she fell off the chair. They both had seen Taylor coming and just...decided to let the girl have her fun. Fun accomplished, Taylor came around the chair and helped Alex to her feet. “In fact, you _like_ how I turned out,” she continued as though there had been no interruption whatsoever. “And really, if there is anything wrong with me — there isn’t, mind you, but if there were — it would definitely be more on my mom than on Lee. Dumbass is trying his best.”

“Speaking of,” Alex said, looking down at Taylor with narrowed eyes, “Your mother called me this morning. Wants to know where you’re sleeping these days.”

Taylor shrugged, avoiding Alex’s eyes. “None of her business.” And, before Alex — or anyone else for that matter — could argue that, yeah, it probably was, she changed tracks. “Anyway, Abdel, I came in early because I wanted to tell you something!”

“Oh?” Curious, Abdel allowed Taylor to distract them in spite of themself.

“I’ve decided you should get a cat.” Taylor looked awfully self-satisfied with this declaration. Abdel couldn’t help but raise their eyebrows in response. (Yesterday, Shawn asked them in pained tones how the _hell_ they managed to make eyebrows look skeptical. Abdel hadn’t had an answer.)

“Your brother claims he’s allergic to cats.”

“False,” Taylor responded immediately. There was something seriously unsettling about her expression. She looked like the cat who got the cream. “He’s allergic to happiness and affection, yes. But not cat fur or dander or whatever bullshit. Also, Alex says you need something to love.”

Abdel’s eyebrows skyrocketed at that, and they turned to face Alex. “Oh _does she_ now?”

Alex, at least, had the good grace to blush. “I just think that it would be good for you! I mean, ever since Auggie you’ve been so sad, ya know?”

“I don’t think a kitten is a replacement for a three-year relationship,” Abdel said dryly. Really, though, it was sweet.

“And it’d be good for Lee, too,” Taylor said decisively, moving past Abdel’s objections. “He’s got some childhood trauma bullshit to work through.”

Abdel couldn’t help but stare at that, and they weren’t alone. Alex and Maryam were also watching Taylor with alarmed expressions that Taylor either didn’t notice or just refused to acknowledge. When it became clear that Tay wasn’t going to elaborate further on this ominous statement, Alex just shook her head and got to her feet.

“Ben’s off shift in two minutes, so get your delinquent little ass into an apron and clock in. Hamline’s afternoon classes are about to let out, so we’ll get a rush in here soon enough. Go on, get.” Her words were firm, but her voice fond. She wasn’t kidding earlier, when she said that she’s proprietary of all her baristas. They were _hers_ , and she’d do anything to keep them safe and whole and happy. It was part of why Abdel tolerated, even welcomed, her nosiness.

Abdel drained the last of their latte and got to their feet as well. “And as much as I’d love to stay and gossip with you, loves, I still have quite a bit of unpacking to do. Maryam, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” When Maryam leaned her face up toward them, Abdel smiled and bent to drop a kiss on her forehead.

Alex pouted. “And what about me? Are you going to abandon me for weeks again, even though you live right upstairs?”

Abdel rolled their eyes, but smiled and stood on their tiptoes and kissed her cheek. “I do so solemnly swear, Alex. I’ll see you soon.”

As they left, Abdel heard Taylor shout after them, “Seriously, think about the cat!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story takes place in St. Paul, MN! all the coffee shops mentioned (except Silent Tea) are real places, and these are my real opinions. groundswell is overpriced and overrated and also undeservedly snobbish about coffee and they can't even pull a decent ristretto shot. and yes I get to be a bitch about this because I am a barista at a different local coffee shop that is not mentioned in this story.  
> I lived in the Midway neighborhood for four years, so locations and descriptions are largely based on my own experience. the thing about StP is that it's weirdly small-town, very sleepy, and everything closes at like 8pm. the vast majority of queer shit is on the other side of the river, so I invented Silent Tea as like a wish fulfillment thing.  
> for those of you who know StP and care about the specifics, I imagine the apartment/Silent Tea being located somewhere between Griggs and Lexington and Sherburne and Blair. basically borderline frogtown but mostly midway.  
> finally, I'm not Muslim, which is probably obvious. Abdel and Maryam both are, and I try to stay true to that in their characters. some of their jokes about what is/isn't haram are based off conversations with my Muslim cousins. if I'm hecking up, please let me know!

**Author's Note:**

> it's 2020 and you know what that means: shelter-in-place order, bay bee  
> updates every Wednesday until I'm allowed to go back to work and hugs are legal again


End file.
